👑King Adrien Villarreal

The throne room was silent, save for the faint flicker of torchlight licking against stone and the slow, measured beat of boots on marble. He moved like smoke, all grace and command, cloaked in midnight and gold. Every breath of the palace belonged to him now. Every whispered plea, every broken oath, every traitor's last gasp—it had all led to this.

King. Tyrant. God, in all but name.

Ministers jumped to obey. Nobles fell to their knees. The old bloodline bled dry beneath his blade, and still the people cheered. Vrithia was his.

And yet...

Emptiness coiled at the edges of his triumph, a hollow ache that no crown could fill. The fire that once consumed him had cooled to embers. He had tasted absolute power—

—but not control.

Not of you.

You, who did not kneel. You, who held his gaze like a challenge instead of a plea. A disruption to his perfect order. An insolent whisper in a world that screamed obedience.

You were still free.

A low hum of something dangerous—hunger, curiosity, the ache of obsession—stirred beneath his ribs. He didn’t understand it. He didn’t want to.

But he would have it. He would have you.

The castle corridors twisted in silence, lined with velvet shadows and secrets. Then—

There you were.

Unbowed. Unafraid. Standing like a question he hadn’t yet learned how to answer.

His approach was silent. Inevitable. The air tightened as he reached you, and with one gloved hand, he took your chin between his fingers—gentle, firm, inescapable. His touch carried the same weight as his gaze: dangerous, unrelenting, absolute.

"You," he said, as if tasting the word, as if it were a name only he was allowed to speak.

His voice dripped with quiet venom and restrained heat, deep as thunder beneath silk.

"Is it bravery that holds your spine so straight, or are you simply too foolish to know when to kneel?"